Someone's Scar
by QuantumMelody
Summary: After the rush of blades and a grave mistake, the London Branch will never be the same again...  Minor WillxGrell
1. Prologue

Everything was a blur. The roar of chainsaw blades, the smudges of glowing demon eyes—bodies that moved so fast no human could track—the crimson that blanketed the ground and walls, skin and hair, everything melded together. There was no longer an up or down. In that moment that counted, there was no awareness, just a need to live and cut and slice. A need to feel blood slick fingers, whose blood it was barely counted for anything.

Adrenaline pounded like a non-existent heart-beat, unnecessary breaths heaved and strained. Metal flashed and did its job, rending and tearing, blurs slowly, one by one, becoming unmoving, distinguishable masses of torn and bloodied flesh.

It was all against one, yet the one still stood, wild-eyed and red covered, continuing his crusade—a holy mission to bring brutal death to those slain by his reaper's scythe. The enemies seemed to keep coming, no matter how many he cut down, no matter how many times he felt one of his own bones crack or his skin split. It was endless. The fight had seemed to last an eternity and the battle crazed, solo reaper could only try and survive the deadly dance he had been forced into by his mob of attackers.

He was beginning to grow tired and light headed, covered in too much in his own crimson, black and blue. The group of forty had dwindled to ten, heaps of bodies strewn and kicked to the side like trash—yet he still stood surrounded with soul on the line. So the battle continued, tooth and nail, the brick of the alley walls crumbling with each of his misses, blade gouging out slashes in the stone.

There was no telling how long he could continue to keep it up, without back up or any way to call for help. He wavered on his feet, no longer agile on the heels he had become accustomed to. He stumbled, vision blurred by cracked glasses and blood loss. He miscalculated, unable to think with his mind throbbing and instincts high.

A demon pierced his side, drawing a hiss of pain from his lips and earning a fierce retaliation; a hot blade cutting through the demon's flesh as if it were nothing. Had his mind been any clearer, he would have made a remark regarding a demon that had long held his affection and had also nearly lost a limb to his weapon as well… However his mind was not clear and no words passed his lips.

Another got him from behind, knocking the air from his lungs and bruising _something_ internal. He spluttered, purposefully vermillion lips even redder from the crimson leaking from his mouth. He felt his teeth pierce his lip, whether it be from the impact of being slammed into a wall or from his own stubbornness forcing him not to scream, he didn't know, but it still hurt like all hell.

He was cornered now, boxed in by the remaining soul-hungry demons. This was the end. He knew it. While the fight in him still burned bright and pressed him to continue to attempt to save himself, his rational mind could only tell him that his life, or after-life, was about to end. Well, hell if he was going to go out without taking the majority of the left-over demons with him. He brandished his chainsaw—

"Grell!"

He couldn't process quite why his name was being shouted, or who was doing so, but he did notice a blur of black coming for him out of the corner of his eye. Out of instinct, he whirled around, weapon still in hand… and felt the blade come in contact with flesh. A splash of red automatically splattered on his face and onto his broken glasses.

"Augh…"

The blur staggered and fell to the ground, and suddenly everything was crystal clear once more, adrenaline purged. Grell blinked a few times, the world appearing slowly in front of his eyes. Demons... blood… and…

"William…!"

The once blurry "attacker" lay on the ground, hands grasping his throat tightly as he gave shuttered gasps for air. The strong boss, on the ground, bleeding out… from a cut made by Grell's saw… It was hardly believable… The idea didn't even process let alone register for the red reaper. Yet here it was… half of William's face covered in red and his throat cut…

The demons were not nearly as stunned as Grell was, moving in for a kill the moment they were given the opportunity. However, they were quickly stopped by the whirring of another weapon, a small lawnmower in the hands of a duo-chromatic-haired reaper who had come from another roof-top to ward away the attackers. The boy was clearly horrified and frightened, but it interfered none with his fighting, the worn-down final demons succumbing to him quickly. It was only when the final demon fell was he able to find words to speak.

"Sutcliff-sempai…"

Grell didn't move, staring wide eyed, his entire body suddenly shutting down on him. His legs came first, as he fell to his knees in front of the mangled form of his superior, the one person he loved most. His mind was on over-drive—_I killed him, I killed him, I never wanted to hurt him_—but it soon went with his legs, blanking. Tears streaked his cheeks without his knowing, spreading sickening pink and gray (normally he'd complain about his mascara being ruined) down his cheeks. The very thought of what he'd done… consciousness left him soon after, his body abused and exhausted, no-longer fueled by the thrill of battle. He became deaf to the cries of the younger reaper and numb to his pain. He became consumed by red, then black as his eyes fluttered closed.


	2. Chapter 1

Hey guys! For my first real, serious fanfic, I was so happy to see that people liked it! So thank you to all of my reviewers! This chapter is for you guys! I'm going to be a bit of a slow uploader, maybe once every week or couple of weeks—this is my senior year and I have a crazy workload on top of college applications. But, I will upload! Any comments, constructive criticism, and ideas would be great! I didn't really know how to end this chapter, but here it is!

I do not own Kuroshitsuji, that's Square Enix and Yana Toboso.

The first thing to reach Grell's ears was the murmuring; incessant, grumbling, and hideously obnoxious to his woozy and light-headed mind. Like a mosquito or an inescapable lecture, it bored into him, drawing a low groan from his lips. He faintly heard his name being mentioned amidst the low conversation, but he couldn't draw any meaning from the other garbled words, nor could he discern the general topic of speech.

His head pounded fiercely, all memories from the night before jaded and fogged by half-consciousness. All he knew for a fact was that he felt like shit, and a whole lot of it. On top of that, the shit must have been made of lead, as he could scarcely make his eye-lid twitch, let alone move at all. Due to this fact, Grell surmised that he had probably gone drinking with Ronald, Eric, and the rest of the boys (William and Alan excluded, seeing as William never let loose in his presence, if at all, and Alan's health was notoriously frail). This, obviously, had lead to a huge hang-over, probably a few dozen bruises from falling on his face due to intoxication, a lot of humiliation, and possibly being in a public place after passing out—again. All of that would certainly explain the murmuring and the throbbing pain he was feeling…

"Mr. Sutcliff? Are you awake?"

Grell would have smiled to himself if he weren't too tired to do so. Finally, a bit of speech that made sense to his ears… And while he was most certainly awake mentally, he couldn't force himself to respond to the question.

"Mr. Sutcliff."

Now that he could actually understand, he decided he wished he couldn't again. It just made his brain hurt worse. And moreover…

"Mr. Sutcliff, if you can answer, please do."

Moreover…

" Miss. I'm not a mister."

His voice sounded wrong in his ears… too unused, low and scratchy. It wouldn't rise in pitch like he liked it to, and couldn't pull off any sort of flirtatious tone. It just sounded tired and masculine, not at all what he wanted to hear coming from his lips. In response, the voice calmly, if not a bit exasperatedly, amended its statement.

"Miss Sutcliff then. Good. You're awake."

Grell certainly wouldn't describe his state as "awake". Rather, he would describe it as being mildly conscious and stuck in warm but rocky tar—in which the jagged rocks were sticking into various places in his body and would not bloody leave him be. It was not a pleasant state, per say, but it could have been a lot worse. Like… he could have been entirely conscious and have spears sticking through him. That would be worse… However, that was hardly the point.

"Mm."

He honestly could give no better response than that, his thoughts a little too disjointed and his knowledge of the situation a bit too lacking. All he wanted to know was where he was at the moment and whether or not he had gotten himself drunk or something else happened… The first task in figuring that out, however, was difficult: opening his eyes. Each lid felt like it weighed an elephant's worth and was stuck in a closed position with rubber-glue, after all. Not being able to do such a task was aggravating, normally being such a simple, normal thing to do… After what felt like an eternity, which in reality was only a few seconds, and what felt like all his strength, which in reality was not THAT much effort, he finally did indeed make his eyes flutter open. His vision was blurred and annoyingly unfocused, everything in his visual range not much more than a shadow of color. A slate of bright white hovered above him, featureless and felt-like in quality. Multicolored forms drifted by his sides, most black and gray with tinges of what might be hair colors or discerning features.

After a few blinks, this fuzziness cleared to something a little less blurred, but no more comprehensible. The slate of white turned into a tiled white ceiling. The shadows on his sides turned to blurred images of people, clothed in suits or nurse uniforms, not a one someone he could indentify. However, he could place a body to a voice now: the person who had been talking to him before—a man who hovered over him, clad in a doctor's regalia but with a blurry face and the sheen of glasses. After a few more blinks, he gave up on seeing more clearly, his glasses gone from his face and thus his eyesight mildly impaired. However, he was able to draw one conclusion. He was in the dispatch infirmary. Why, he did not know. It probably had something to do with his aching, but oddly numb body…

"Mr. Knox, Mr. Sutcliff is awake."

Grell blinked slowly, only barely comprehending the doctor's voice. _Knox… Ronnie?_ Why would Ronald be in the infirmary? Hopefully he was alright… then again, if Ronald was being called because Grell himself was awake… Ronald was probably there because he was worried… or something. He probably wasn't hurt… that would be silly.

"Sutcliff-sempai?"

The red-haired reaper blinked again, trying to discern the second humanoid figure above him. Dressed in a suit, large glasses frames… two colored hair… yes, it was Ronald. Couldn't be anyone else. Besides… no one else called him such a respectful name… even if the voice was uncharacteristically broken.

"Ronnie…?"

Despite the fact that it could be no one else, he had to make sure. It would be stupid of him to spout off any sort of ridiculousness to someone he wasn't close to.

"Yeah, it's me."

Grell gave a shallow sigh of relief. Someone he knew… that was good. That was always good. That meant someone was around that he could trust. But… then again… when he was in the infirmary, it was always William that was hovering over him, there to scold him for being stupid or not being attentive enough… Why was Ronald there, and not his overbearing, but oh so sexy, boss? It was a bit confusing… but for the time being, he was content with having his underling by his side.

"Ronnie, could you get me my glasses, I can't see…"

He requested, disoriented and wanting to better study what was going on. While he wasn't near blind like William, details did escape him with his glasses gone, and it was more than irritating and not helpful with his wish to better understand.

"Yeah, 'course, sempai. They were pretty smashed up, but Oya-san cleaned them up good as new."

That didn't make sense… why were his glasses broken in the first place? He couldn't have fallen that badly, could he? Then again, he wasn't sure if he fell or what happened… His thoughts were interrupted by Ronald's face coming into view, a side effect of his glasses being placed back on his face. The younger shinigami's brow was furrowed and his usually smiling, or pouting, lips were twisted in a concerned grimace. His gold and green eyes, just like Grell's own, lacked their usual twinkle, irises darkened and edges reddened by what his superior could only surmise were tears.

"There you go, Sempai…"

Ronald seemed to strain to make himself smile, lips tugging upward but nothing else in his visage showing happiness. The entire anomaly was confusing to the priorly unconscious reaper… what could have happened to make the peppy Ronald Knox look like he had been dumped… or worse…? It couldn't be the condition that Grell had found himself in… he had been beaten badly or passed out from drinking plenty of times… So what could it have been?

"Ronnie… what happened? Why am I in the infirmary…?"

There was a pause, Ronald fidgeting and looking away. He was reluctant to answer, obviously… though why, Grell could not figure out.

"Ronald, answer me."

Grell willed his voice to be stronger, to be more… him like. However, it came out similarly to before, painfully masculine and weak. However, it did have his desired effect, the younger Shinigami cringing a bit and giving him an apprehensive, but fearful face. He continued to tiredly glare, trying to force words out of Ronald, trying to figure out what the hell was going on… however, his efforts worked counterproductively, bringing tears to his kouhai's eyes, the blond rubbing his eyes and sniffling like a little child.

"E-eh? Ronnie, don't cry…"

Ronald continued to cry however, shaking his head as if denying he was crying at all.

"S-Sempai… I t-thought… It was just so…"

Grell could only stare at him dumbfounded, not understanding. The memories of the night previous were so fuzzy… Had something happened? Ronald crying… his glasses broken…

"I thought you were dead… I thought you both were… I'm so glad you're alive…"

_Both?_

So he wasn't the only one hurt. Two dispatch officers down. William would be…

_William…_

The memories rushed back to him all in that second. The blood, the desperation… pumping adrenaline pounding on his mind, the rancid smell of demon carcasses… a sweep of a chainsaw and the feeling of cutting… He had been on a routine mission. A soul collection. Some broad named Lenore… Lenore Jenkins if he recalled, which he now did with terrifying clarity. He hadn't been expecting it, not in the least. In fact, he hadn't even been thinking about the collection or his surroundings. His thoughts had been turned to the beautiful red gown he had seen in a store window and how they would match his new shoes in such a lovely manner… and then they had turned to imagining dancing with Sebastian or William in the gown. He had promptly turned red and giggled girlishly. Then all hell, no pun intended, broke loose.

A block was all he had to go until he had reached his destination, however a group of demons had another plan. He hadn't a clue where they had come from or why they had attacked, but they did, and he just barely missed being disemboweled from the get-go. The situation went downhill from there… and…

_William…!_

He remembered it, though not entirely clearly, as his glasses had been shattered and the rush of battle coupled with blood loss had addled his senses. A shadow had rushed by the corner of his vision. He had assumed it was an attacking demon, despite the previous call of his name in a voice he was so fond of… and he had turned and reacted to protect himself. His mind had cleared then, shock overtaking him. Crimson had painted William's pale as death skin, a sickeningly deep gash leaving his throat and face bared and…

While normally such a sight gave the red reaper a rush of sadistic joy, his stomach turned at the memory, churning and making him ill... He had been so mangled… just by that one… Grell found himself unable to see clearly again, his eyes stinging. Nothing had ever been more disgusting… that red… did not suit William at all... at all…!

"Ronald, y-you said… both… You…"

Grell could not form a coherent sentence, spluttering as he desperately tried to ask his question. Obviously William had been injured… he had been there to see it… he had been the one to… The thought made him tremble fiercely, horrified and terrified of himself and what had happened. Ronald seemed to understand what he wanted to know, however, and spoke in a shaky child-like voice.

"W-William-sempai's a-alive t-too… for n-now… They said h-he wouldn't survive the night… b-but…"

A small sense of relief washed over him. William wasn't dead. Not yet. Who had he been kidding… William was too strong to die from such a stupid accident like that. Of course he survived the night. Of course he would keep living. He'd heal right up… He'd be mad at Grell, hit him, give him overtime… and that would be that… But… then again it had been his scythe that had done the deed…

"They've been in surgery on and off… I-If he can survive the surgery… and keep living for a little w-while… they s-said he s-should be able t-to recover and keep w-working…That would be great… right? They said y-you're mostly fine… A few broken bones… internal damage… cuts and bruises… a-arm's dislocated… b-but you should be out in a few days, good as n-new… Well… maybe doing office work f-for a bit. A-a few of your bones were pretty much shattered… even for a s-shinigami, that's not gonna heal up t-that quick…"

Grell shuttered a sigh, resting his eyes for a moment out of exasperation. No field work for a while, huh? How boring would that be, stuck endlessly in the monotonous office all day filling out file after file and never once lifting a hand to cut a record or attempt to touch his precious Sebas-chan. The notion was upsetting. The thought of the demon, however, was not. _That_ was enough to make him blush like a schoolgirl. Low, suave voice, hair like a soft midnight, body of an Adonis, glowing crimson…

He froze, eyes opening abruptly. Red eyes… just like… the memory of the previous night flashed back to him like a nightmare, a jolt of terror shooting through his veins. If only it had been just a nightmare—a night terror. Those happened once in a while, after all. A cup of tea and a few chapters of one of his favorite novels usually cured those. Or even better, when he fell asleep at work and William woke him up with a swift hit on the head and a roundabout reassurance. A "a proper reaper shouldn't be frightened by such trivial things" after scolding him for sleeping like a uptight grammar school teacher or a simple awkward pat on the shoulder and telling him to get back to work. It was almost worth the fright, sometimes.

"Sempai, you okay?"

Ronald broke Grell from his half-thought half-fear musings. For once, the interruption was entirely appreciated.

"Yeah, yeah, just fine, Ronnie, no worries."

A weak giggle tore from his lips, girlish enough to satisfy and still not strain. Ronald, however, did not seem convinced by Grell's forced, feminine mirth. Rather the opposite. His concern grew, the smallest of pout-like scowls twisting his lips. The elder reaper's laughter slowly died down, becoming not much more than small nervous sounds that that were barely recognizable as chuckles. He should have known that he couldn't fleece Ronald in such a manner. For all of the blonde's bubbly attitude and childish, if not slightly twisted, personality, he was a sharp boy. Ten times… maybe a hundred times more observant than William and pretty much able to see through any person he came across, save a few. Maybe that's how he was able to function so easily in their office and with the ladies… he never had any problem with interpretation… None the less it was clear Ronald was not going to believe a word.

There was a short period of awkward silence in which not a word was exchanged between the coworkers. Grell fiddled, trying to figure out which parts of his body worked and which ones were in disarray. Ronald sat down with a quiet "fwump" in the chair by the hospital bed and watched his sempai carefully. This carried on for what seemed to be an eternity before either of them spoke up again, Ronald very gravely continuing on with his earlier explanation.

"…The wound on Boss was pretty bad, you know. They called it fatal."

Grell fixed him with a look that obviously meant he did not understand, his head tilted to the side and lips pursed.

"Wouldn't be surprised either… seeing as that monster of a death scythe…"

Ronald trailed off, looking to the floor and closing his eyes. He didn't even notice the barely given glare that was sent in his direction.

"He could… he could die, you know…"

There was silence again, the tension now thick enough to cut with a knife. Grell's confused and irritated look intensified, eyes narrowing dangerously and jaw clenching. What was Ronald saying—"he could die". That wasn't possible. They were shinigami. They couldn't just "die". Besides, William has proven himself pretty invincible before. There was no way his boss—

Very suddenly, the quiet was broken, broken little sounds issuing from Grell's throat. They were tiny and jerking, somewhere between the beginnings of a sneeze and a cough—a sound that wasn't exactly common day. It was enough to make Ronald jump, absolutely startled by the unidentifiable noises. The blonde was about to say something about it, opening his mouth and in the process of forming words when the sounds intensified and became more recognizable. Grell was laughing. Weakly, hoarsely, but laughing all the same, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips turned upwards in one of his normal, if not absolutely manic, grins.

"Sem…pai…?"

Ronald leaned back in his chair a little, as if making an effort to get away. There was something wrong with that laugh… it was so out of place and jittery, yet obviously entirely genuine…

"Ronnie, Ronnie… Will's not going to die~! That can't happen!"

Grell's voice was forcefully high again, though more out of a sort of hysteria than from any attempts to be feminine. Worry and frustration wrote itself across Ronald's face, reddened green eyes narrowing.

"Sutcliff-sempai, you were there…! You saw how bad the injury was—You made the cut!"

He nearly shouted, hands balling into fists at his sides. He could only pretend not to see the dumbfounded expression Grell gave. Everything was going so wrong… the boss was injured and Grell was denying that something could go horribly and they could lose a reaper—and after the last two…

The red-head blinked his eyes in surprise, blazingly bright like contained acid. The look had changed from before… they had been dull with slumber and confusion earlier… now…

"Silly, Ronnie. We're immortal, we don't die. Will won't die either, not from something stupid like that."

The statement was punctuated with a mad little giggle, eyes closing again and one previously limp arm draping over his forehead.

"We don't die…"


	3. Chapter 2

Okay! Here's the next chapter. I feel like it might be a bit shorter than the last, or something—and I really did keep everyone waiting with the update, but I hope you enjoy! Any input or criticism would be great, but flamers… well, flamers gonna flame, so they'll be rather promptly ignored. Or at least tossed to a rather furious chainsaw wielding Grell. Thanks!  
>Kuroshitsuji, including all of the wonderful shinigami, belong to Yana Toboso. Any OC that may appear later probably belong to me. Or my friend Ika.<p>

Ronald was frightened for Grell. Truly and sincerely terrified for him. He had always known that his upper-classmen's mind was… for lack of a better phrase, messed up… but with Grell in hysterical giggles and solidly denying the possibility that William could come out of this disabled, if not dead, it almost seemed as if the red-reaper's very sanity (or whatever left of it) was at risk. Ronald wasn't even sure he had ever seen Grell this unstable—even after the Jack the Ripper case… and that had been pretty bad. His senpai had been dragged back by the hair, beaten and bloody. Somewhat hysterical too, if he remembered correctly… but those had been tears, not… whatever this was.

"Hey… Senpai… Erm…"

Ronald backed away from Grell's bedside a bit, watching his friend quiet after the fit of laughter had subsided. He couldn't tell if the lack of giggles was a good thing or not. On one hand, it could mean that he had calmed down enough for reason. On the other hand, it could mean that he had entirely lost it and was about to launch into some sort of psychopathic rage. It really WAS hard to tell...

"Senpai..."  
>With a slight hesitation, Ronald peered over at his injured coworker, studying him almost fearfully. Well... there didn't appear to be any signs of anger, or mania, or anything like that, so perhaps he had indeed calmed down? That was a good sign... rather, it was a good sign until he noticed that the red-head was trembling, his arm sliding to firmly cover his eyes. Why, Ronald couldn't really figure out. There wasn't anything wrong with Grell's eyes, the doctor had made sure of that... and the motion had to be making his glasses dig into his skin uncomfortably... Then the younger reaper noticed something.<p>

"Senpai... you're crying..?"

He could see little wet streams pass from under Grell's bared arm, trailing over his cheeks. So the trembles were sobs...? But...he was still smiling. After a moment or so of silence, Grell responded with a weak nod, not making a move to uncover his face.

"...I think so... yeah. I don't know why though..."

His voice was almost small; soft and unintentionally broken. It wasn't unhappy, per say... but it was too shattered to be anywhere near normal. It was as if his will had crumbled without his knowledge, whatever fire that he normally possessed had been snuffed out. There was nothing more pitiful than the sound of his voice at that very moment, nothing more pitiful than seeing him truly cry...

The rattling of a bed distracted Ronald from his unstable superior, if only for a moment. They were wheeling in a patient? Probably straight from surgery... He looked up from his coworker slowly, morbidly curious. Who was it...? What state were they in...? When he saw the source of the noise, his face fell, eyes widening a bit.

Three nurses surrounded a hospital gurney, replacing bags of fluid and medication on the adjacent IV drips. The prone form on the the bed... Ronald's heart suddenly froze and plummeted at the sight. William was back from his latest surgery.

The firm boss's face and neck were covered solidly in crimson-stained gauze, only opening for his mouth and nose. His visible lips were covered in neat little rows of stitches, holding the skin tightly together where it had been cut. Dark shadows seemed near painted under his eyes as well, his cheeks gaunt with weakness and blood loss, and his skin a strange bluish pallor. He lay limply, unmoving, unbreathing... It was almost as if he, one of many 'deaths' had perished himself...

Slowly, gently, the nurses brought William to a bed three spaces away from his employees, chattering quietly as they proceeded to check his vitals.

"William's back..." Ronald mumbled shakily, his fists clenching anxiously.

"Will...?" Grell sounded curious, innocent of the situation. He still didn't fully understand William's condition- the severity of the injuries, the cut made by the edge of his death scythe. As far as he was concerned, it hadn't been more than a scratch, a fluke, even with the vivid memory of deep, gory red flashing behind his eyelids as if it were burned to his retinas.

"Yeah, William-sempai..." Ronald's response was immediate and forced. If the simple idea of William's injury created instability, what would be being faced with it do to Grell's psyche?

The nurses finished fretting over William for the moment and left to tend to other patients, leaving him exposed fully to Ronald and Grell's view. He looked so vulnerable now, all alone, battered and bloody... pale as a sheet-hell, pale as _death_, if one was able to forgive the obvious cliché. He really did look miserable, so badly wounded.

Grell refused to uncover his eyes, laying as stiff as a board. William was there... He wanted to know his William was alright... But it was as if his muscles had frozen in terror, childishly shielding him from reality. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist. If he didn't see William's injury, he wasn't injured. If he didn't see red... _If I don't see any red... there's no blood..._

"Hey, you doing okay there, Senpai?" Ronald's voice was shaky and concerned; for good reason too, Grell had not even twitched since he was aware of William's presence. Ronald received a little nod as a response, but nothing more, the red-head stubbornly refusing to move.

Ronald sighed. It was natural that Grell would react in such a way, he supposed... it would make less sense for him to confront the thing of his nightmares than to deny its existence... especially in such a hysteric state. He could only imagine that, if he did remove his arm and look, it would drive him into insanity. Or something. Who knew with Grell, really?

The younger of the reapers could only look between his elders helplessly, not knowing what to do. William... Well, William wasn't going to wake up for a while, if he was still alive that is-

_The beeping says he must be… he has a heartbeat..._

And Grell was not in a state to do anything at all. The mental strain of even contemplating William's injury had left him a wreck, and Ronald's presence didn't seem to be helping. (Although, it did not seem to be hurting either.) There was no way he could help. There was nothing he could do but-

"Hey, Senpai...? I'll be back later, but there's still work to be done, you know? So... I'll see you." With Grell and William out of commission, the work had piled up... with no direction from their boss, everything was in disarray. Although he was young, Ronald had to step up to take command. It wasn't as if... as if... Well, there wasn't anyone there anymore who could do it, besides himself. There had been reapers he could trust and lean on, once upon a time... but they were gone, never to come back. _And... I was about to lose two more... I almost... _

He gave a heavy sigh. He had gotten over it a long time ago, dwelling on the past wasn't going to help the situation one bit. Besides, Grell was fine now. Mentally unstable, but physically, he'd be right as rain in a couple of weeks, hopefully back to his bouncy self. _Who am I kidding... that will only happen if..._ He looked toward William briefly before turning away. _You better survive, Boss. _

Ronald walked away, leaving his superiors, both motionless, to themselves, knowing that, at the moment, there was nothing he could do for them.

The night continued on quietly, the infirmary uncharacteristically empty and unbusy. It was as if the only misfortune the dispatch had suffered was the one that had transpired the night previous, as if no one else in the dispatch was suffering. Grell still could not bear to look at his injured boss. Nor could he stand to visualise what carnage was possible. All he cared to feel and experience was the oblivion of sleep, to numb out the despair that was reaching its icy claws into his chest and clutching at his heart. However, sleep would not come. The moment fog entered his mind, red would flood his vision, bringing terror anew. William's bloodied form was printed in his memory, every tear and splatter a vivid nightmare... and yet...

Reality hurt.

Staying awake was just as frightening as feeling the haze of sterile scent that hit his nose, coupled with the metallic tang of blood that hovered, despite the impeccable cleaning, was unnerving, medicinal, too much reminding of surgery and a little too close to the scent of an undertaker's. (Although, there was no smell of body or wood-rot, gladly.) The beeping of the monitor, although soothing; proving that William and himself still lived, was anxiety-inducing. There was always the possibility that it would stop at any moment, that it could go flat and prove that the seemingly indestructible reaper boss was dead once and for all. There was always the possibility, that if Grell were to indeed look up and at his superior, the man that he cared for more than anything, that William would be dead.

Despite this, there was no way he could live in denial forever. It wasn't a child's world. No matter how much he covered his eyes, reality was still reality. What he didn't see could still happen. He really did need to see... exactly what he had accidentally done to his precious William.  
>Hesitantly, Grell forced his arm off of his eyes, weakly flopping the once tense appendage by his side. The infirmary around him hadn't changed much, as far as he could tell. The ceiling was just as starch white as before, most of the beds were just as empty...It wasn't as if the apocalypse had occurred. The world wasn't falling apart because he could see.<br>He turned his head, wincing at the stretch of his stiff neck. It felt as if he hadn't properly moved in years, his muscles pinching and stretching like old rubber. With a slight sigh, he finally managed to properly move his line of sight from something but the ceiling, bringing the rest of the room into his vision. Green eyes flickered around, surveying the linoleum and machines carefully before skimming over the surface of the clean linen-covered beds. His gaze finally came to a stop on the only other occupied cot and a splash of ink black in the blinding white.  
>William continued to be in brutal shape. His skin had not changed hue, still ivory with a tint of blue and gray. His stitches remained, red around the edges with blood and irritation, but obviously clean and on the mend. The boss did not move an inch; not a twitch of the eye or a flinch of the hand. Breath had not returned to him, practiced habit gone.<br>At the very least, there was no longer red.

This was... oddly soothing to him. He couldn't understand why.

Red had always been a color of comfort. In the faintest glimmers of his human childhood, his mother's crimson hair had been a security blanket, a sanctuary from his father's scolding and the taunting of his elder brothers. Back then, his hair had been a mousy brown, lank and lusterless, just like all the other men in his family. He had always wanted hair like his mother's...

As time went on, it became a favorite for blankets, clothes, pillows, toys...It was indistinct when the color had become such an obsession. Such fire and passion it invoked. Rich hues of love and power. It possessed everything he had ever wanted. In the back of his mind, he remembered the soft-spoken, useless Grell Sutcliff of a century ago. Hesitant, sheepish, uncared for, weak, untalented, without drive, confused, self-conscious, self-pitying, insecure, and introverted. It took death to change any of that. The power of becoming death, the new start, the manifestation of scarlet in his form. He could finally live up to the fiery soul trapped behind the fear of society.

He became red, and red became him.

But right now, he wanted to be anything but red. Anything but the red that splashed on the stone of that London alley. Anything but William's blood.

Grell's eyes remained locked on his mangled boss. Despite the lack of vermilion, the bone white that had replaced the pale peach of skin was terrifying. They were supposed to _be _death, not look like it. The red reaper waited anxiously as he watched the lifeless form, searching for some sort of indication of health or normalcy, but nothing warranted optimism. (Or fear, for that matter, which did help the nerves, if only a little.)

Hot, wet tears rolled unbidden down Grell's cheeks. He couldn't stop them. He didn't want to. He wanted to sob and break down, mourn that fact that William, his William, could be in such a state. He wanted revel in self-pity that it had been all his fault, and in pity for his boss, for having to have such a horrible subordinate, for having to come to save him, for being burdened with pain over being stuck with the worst of the worst reapers.

_I really haven't changed at all, have I? _ It terrified him to think even after all this time, that, perhaps, his human side didn't entirely fade into red like he had always wanted. _I'm horrid... weak. I couldn't even stop myself from hurting the person I love the most..._

Grell wanted to call out to William, to apologize, to spill his heart and beg for forgiveness for having pained him for so long, to tell him how _unworthy_ he was of being saved, but no words would leave his chapped lips. He could only hiccup through sobs, his ribs piercing him with pain with every intake of breath. It was useless anyway... Even if he forced himself to say all he wanted to say, William would not hear him. The sleeping could not hear the words of the awake, after all... _Like the living cannot speak to the dead... _

Regardless, he had to try. Any chance... any at all... of even a harsh word... an acknowledgement of life... was worth all the effort in the world. If it could help bring back the man from a place far beyond reach, even if it meant dragging him into the coldness of reality.

"Will..." The words were weak, not much more than a croak through tears. As expected, the other reaper did not respond. "Will, please wake up..." Grell's frail voice took on a tone of desperation. He wanted... No, he needed William to wake up, open his eyes at the least... Even a scolding would be acceptable. A whack on the head, a cold glare, a jab in the ribs...

But none of this happened. There was nary a response. William continued to lie there without movement, the plea not reaching his ears; not making any connection to his mind. While Grell had expected as much, the lack of response elicited a sob from the crimson reaper. It was terrifying, not having William awake and responsive. There were only a handful of times where Grell himself had seen William even _asleep_, let alone unconscious. And in those rare times, even saying his name or touching his shoulder roused him... even if he seemed extremely drowsy and unkempt afterward. (He always did like seeing his Will like that, so relaxed. It made him look a great deal younger. And nicer. But the latter was simply because he had a neutral expression, not a glare.)

Now, there was no waking him. No dazed, sleepy expression or ensuing glare of irritation. There was absolutely nothing Grell could do. Nothing anyone could do. They were gods- how could they be so helpless?

Grell's grief engulfed him. He broke down crying once more, all the while begging William to stir and awaken. He clung to the edge of his bed, leaning as close to his beloved boss as he could with his pained, beaten body. "Please Will, open your eyes... please... please..." The red reaper begged through choked sobs. "I'll never turn in my paperwork late again! I'll follow the dress-code! I'll never go to see Sebastian again! Just wake up..."

William's eyelids didn't even twitch. The critically injured reaper lay soundless, motionless; oblivious to the hysteric pleas of his annoying, loving subordinate.


End file.
